


no other box i choose to use

by FreshBrains



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lydia Martin, Dark, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I’m inside him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	no other box i choose to use

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 3x18 and Lydia/Peter promo stuff, so spoilers for that, just in case. I can't help it, I love this ship. 
> 
> Title from "Every You Every Me" by Placebo.

_Make it go away._

Over and over again. Soft, steady. Quiet. Not angry.

Afraid.

_Make it go away._

_Please, Lydia._

_Make it go away._

Lydia lays in bed, stiff as a board, flat on her back. She rests her hands on her stomach, watches them rise with the steady pull of her breathing. Her mind has been quiet; too quiet—even after Stiles, after the strings, after the whispers. After the clanking. After the wrong guess. There’s a low hum there, but that’s all. She’s used to it. She is learning to choose what to hear; to hone in on the what's important behind all that static.

But he’s not.

That one voice, low and hot, sad, fearful, childlike.

_Make it go away. Lydia, please._

_Make it go away._

“He hears what I hear,” Lydia says to her ceiling, her limbs soft and loose, tired. She has nobody to bounce theories off of—Aiden doesn’t understand, Scott is busy with Stiles, and she can’t burden Allison, not after everything she’s been through. Lydia smooths her hands down her sweater, her skirt, she stretches, long and languid, feels the gentle pull of her muscles.

_I’m inside him._

*

Lydia walks across town in the dark. The night is cool but nowhere near as cold as it was the night Stiles was lost. She wears a warm jacket, mittens, a hat her grandmother knitted for her. She stops at the gas station and buys an extra-large hot chocolate, drinks it on the way, savors the sweetness.

She doesn’t buzz for him; he lets her in, and she unwinds her scarf as she canters up the stairs in her boots, flat and warm, so unlike she heels she wore at school. When she gets to his door, she can practically smell it—stress, sadness. Utter fear, the piss-stink of fear, the sweat of it. She opens up and finds a dark room.

“The humming,” he whispers in the dark, voice hoarse. He’s curled up on the couch in jeans and a white tee shirt, soaked through with sweat, his eyes glow blue. “Oh god, make it stop. The _humming_ , Lydia.”

She sets her hot chocolate cup on the messy kitchen table and walks to the couch, slow so she doesn’t spook him. He flinches further into the ragged cushions the closer she gets, and when she crouches down to see him at eye-level, he whimpers.

“Oh, don’t be afraid,” she croons, reaching out and touching his stubbled jaw. “A big bad alpha like you, afraid of a little banshee like me?”

“Not an alpha anymore,” he murmurs, hiding his eyes with his arm.

“I know,” Lydia whispers. She purses her lips, breathes slowly. “What do you hear?”

He exhales deeply. “I can’t tell. Buzzing, sawing. Droning. _Something_.” He fists his hair, his face is contorted in the dark, like Lydia stabbed him with an icepick between the eyes. “It’s _constant_.”

Lydia smiles and gently pries his fingers out of his hair, holding his big hand in her own. “That’s me, Peter. When I’m asleep, when I’m awake. When I’m eating, fucking, laughing. When I’m alone or with friends. That’s what I sound like.” She leans closer so her breath wafts across her cheek. “You wanted to be a part of me. You wanted _me_. Now you have me.”

Peter groans, buries his face in the couch. He looks so _young_. “Fuck…Lydia, _please. Make it stop._ ”

Lydia smiles and curls up next to the couch, legs warm against the carpet. She runs her fingers through Peter’s dirty hair, shushes him like he's a kicked puppy. “I can’t. I’m inside you now, Peter. I’m a part of you.” She takes his trembling hand, kisses the cup of his palm. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

*

After that night, the hum in her head is sweeter than silence.


End file.
